


All Better

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Eye Trauma, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical, other wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Phil bandaged Clint and one time Clint bandaged Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Better

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a prompt sent on tumblr which I have since lost! I'm sorry!
> 
> Warnings for blood and wound talk, though it's not crazily graphic. Also warnings for Clint's eyes being damaged briefly. I know that squicks some people out (again, not that graphic).
> 
> Beta read by Dunicha, though I just dicked around with it before posting so any remaining grammatical errors etc are all on me.

 

"I guess I shouldn'ta run," Clint huffs, vision swimming a little. Blood’s dripping into a puddle beneath him. This is it, he figures. Oh well.

The guy frowns down at him, knuckles whitening as he knots the silk tie he's wrapped around Clint's thigh before pressing a laughably small handkerchief to the wound. It’s woefully inadequate, turning red almost immediately, but the man looks resolute. He tuts like Clint’s life isn’t dripping onto concrete, like this is a huge inconvenience. "Well, I _did_ say."

 

-

 

Clint peels the ragged fabric of his shirt away from the back of his neck and the air feels like knives across his abraded skin. He grits his teeth and tries to concentrate on breathing. Coulson wordlessly pushes him down into a chair. "It's fine, I can just-" 

The man tells him to shut up and then wordlessly cleans up the mess. It hurts. It hurts a lot, but he's quicker than Clint would've been. "There," he says quietly, running two fingers around the tape once he’s done. “Are you gonna be alright?”

 

-

 

"You _know_ where medical is."

Clint wavers in the doorway to Phil's office til he looks up and rolls his eyes, which is tantamount to permission to come in. 

"You have to stop stealing stuff from medical," he says, taking the sterile packets Clint hands him before inspecting the gash on Clint's leg. They both know he won't stop stealing from medical. Clint would tape himself up but, _well_. 

 

-

 

In a crappy little hotel room, Phil cuts up his own shirt to make a dressing, cleaning the gash on Clint's shoulder with a minibar bottle of gin. It hurts like a motherfucker, and Clint says so. "Well, maybe stop falling off of things," Phil snaps, brusquely wiping away grit and grime.

"God _damn_!" Clint cries at the next gin-bath. "You're sadistic, man."

Phil huffs. "What do you _want_ me to do? Kiss it better?" 

Clint doesn't answer and Phil continues his work, but he's a little gentler with it, patting the wound dry before using duct tape to make everything stay in place as best he can. He smooths it down like he always does, gentle fingers tracing around the edge of the dressing.

"You could kiss it better _as well_ ," Clint mumbles, and he hears Phil chuckle behind him before there's the tiniest sound of his lips being pressed lightly on top of the bandage. "There," he says. "All better."

 

-

 

Clint tries to quell the panic that's threatening to overwhelm him as Phil guides him down into a chair. He lets out a small whimper when Phil steps back, cause he can't see him, can't see anything at all. "I'm right here," Phil reassures, putting a hand on Clint's shoulder that he needily grasps. Phil squeezes and comes back around, and doesn't say anything when Clint grips onto the sides of his jacket. He tips Clint's head back and flushes each eye with water before softly pressing pads over them and winding a bandage around Clint's head. "Medical's on it's way," he says, his voice wavering just enough to terrify Clint.

 

"Will you kiss it better?" Clint laughs, delirious, and then he starts crying, which hurts more than anything. Phil shhes him quietly, but he still doesn't step away, hands on Clint's face, soothing down the ends of the bandage and brushing down the sides of his face as he coos that _it'll be ok, it'll be ok._  

 

Clint's inconsolable, and he knows he's ruining Phil's jacket with how hard he's holding on but he can't help himself, winding himself up further and further til Phil tugs his hair a little and pulls his head back. " _Stop_ , Clint. You're going to be ok," he promises, and it helps some, because Phil Coulson doesn’t tend to make promises that he can’t keep. He bends and Clint catches his breath when he feels the softest bit of warm pressure against each eye, and can't help but curl his fists into Phil's jacket, pulling him down further til their lips meet. 

  

-

 

"Shit!" Phil cries from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of something falling on the floor. Clint rushes in to find Phil bobbing up and down with a finger in his mouth, half an onion rolling to a stop next to the fridge. "Did you cut yourself?" 

 

Phil nods and whines, and Clint can't help himself: he laughs. Phil frowns at him and turns to go for the little first aid kit under the sink, but Clint stops him with one arm around his waist, kissing his temple. "I should make you go to medical," he teases, opening the box with one hand. He opens a bandaid and blows on Phil's finger when he pulls it out of his mouth before carefully pressing it over the wound and winding it neatly around. He bends his head and kisses it lightly. "Thank you," Phil says, smiling and leaning in for a proper kiss.

 


End file.
